Torn Asunder
by TammiTam
Summary: John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn’t a demon that would take his youngest from him.  Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!
1. Chapter 1

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

I know I promised this story earlier, but I was stuck with a serious case of writer's block … blame it on the finale. I couldn't get Sammy dying out of my head to write but a paragraph here and there. So, one hard drive crash and one computer frying from lightening later, here I am!

Oh yeah, I own em all right … that's why there's a season three!!!!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"_I hate you!"_

The words were the sharpest weapon in the youngest Winchester's arsenal, the only weapon he could wield at the moment; after all, you can't very well salt and burn your own father. 

"_Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too."_

The words that John Winchester tossed back to his youngest were no less scathing. Sam paused in his rant, in his latest battle with his father, and stared at the man who was supposed to love him above all else. Finally, his resolve crumbled and he turned and fled down the hall to the room that was currently his. The slam of the door signaled his defeat with such clarity that it made Dean wince from his spot on the couch where he'd been pretending to be invisible. _Pretending nothing, they didn't even realize you existed._

"Go get your brother, Dean; we need to leave within the hour."

_So much for being invisible!_

"Dad?"

"What?"

John Winchester sounded exasperated as he paused in his own preparations to leave, the weapons he was packing laying on the kitchen table.

"Don't you … I mean, weren't you a little hard on him?"

John turned to stare incredulously at his son; the eldest boy who fell so flawlessly into place; a place that John created, and it had little room for error.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, no dad, I mean, his birthday is tomorrow and …"

"And nothing, Dean. Your brother needs to learn to make sacrifices. I'm tired of his selfish behavior! Now go get him out of his brooding and let's go. This ghost is killing people. I think that takes precedence over a birthday."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean's birthday had been nearly five months before, and while the Winchester's never celebrated anything with the same flair most families did, John had made a big show of taking them out. It wasn't without its perks. Sam had gotten a taste of what normal could have been, even if for just one night. And Dean? Well, he'd gotten the Impala.

Perhaps fourteen wasn't as grandiose as eighteen, but Sam felt slighted just the same. It wasn't like he wanted something as cool as a _car_, but he did want that night. The night of togetherness that made him feel like his family wasn't as screwed as it really was.

What he got instead was a shouting match with his father. _Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too. _And, despite the fact that his hurtful words had come first, he couldn't help but feel like his father's words were _true. _That John Winchester did hate his youngest son.

"You gonna talk to me, Sammy?"

Sam just stared out the window, saying nothing at all. He was getting quite good at brooding, making Dean wonder just where that little kid with the million dollar smile had gone to.

"I'm talking to you, Sam."

Nothing, just utter silence as they pulled up to the old mansion where one Barnard Fountain had met his demise nearly fifty years ago, leaving behind one nasty ghost in his wake.

"Dad's signaling to you."

Dean glowered at Sam a moment before John Winchester's obvious distress made itself known. Frowning, he opened the door to go meet his father. Sam, despite his outward indifference, moved to the trunk to gather weapons. He could hear his father and Dean talking in low tones, but frankly he didn't pay them much mind.

"Sam? Are you listening to me?"

Sam pulled from his thoughts to realize that John and Dean had both approached the car, and by the look on his father's face, he could guess he'd been speaking to him.

Sam did what anyone would do in that situation … he faked it.

"Yeah, dad, of course."

"Then what did I just say?"

He blinked, his eyes darting from John to Dean and back. "That you um …… "

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Damn it, Sam, you better not screw up on this hunt!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam trudged along behind Dean, the look his father had given him flashing vividly in his mind.

"Damn … I bet they had some wild parties in this place."

Sam ignored his brother and just brushed passed him and headed up the stairs. Their father went to search the grounds to find the grave while Sam and Dean searched the house.

"Oh come on Sammy, I'm sure once this hunt is over…"

"There'll be another one for him to push me aside for."

"I promise Sam, tomorrow I'll take you out, we'll have pizza, go to a movie or something."

Sam didn't say anything; he just continued his climb up the stairs then moved down the long hallway.

"Sammy?"

"I just … for once want him to think about _me_, to think about what _I _want. I just want to have one night, Dean, one night!"

Dean's mouth opened to retort that, but closed almost immediately. Despite him wanting to defend his father, Dean knew that Sam was right. John rarely ever put Sammy first.

Silence lingered between the Winchester siblings as they moved through the house, though Sam was never far from Dean's sights, in fact, he watched his kid brother like a hawk for any signs that his brooding might end soon. It wasn't fair, Dean knew it wasn't, but there wasn't anyway he could figure out how to make it right between his father and his brother.

Scanning the master bedroom, Dean shook his head as nothing registered on the EMF meter… not one blip, not one flash of lights. Moving to the door, he motioned Sam with his hand.

"Come on Sammy, maybe dad already finished off old man Fountain and we're done."

Nodding, Sam started after Dean, but paused as something shiny glinted off the beam of the flashlight he held. Stepping from his path to the door, he bent to retrieve what looked to be an old coin.

"Hey Dean, I think I found something … "

Just as he spoke, he glanced up to Dean lingering in the doorway when a blast of cold air suddenly made a chill race up his spine. Frozen, he watched as the door to the room slammed closed with a driving force that sent Dean not only out of the room, but into the adjacent wall with a thud that finally broke Sam's momentary paralysis.

"DEAN!"

Sam moved but two steps before he was hurtled through the air to slam hard into his own wall with a thud that cracked old plaster. Before he could recover, Sam was lifted into the air only to be flung like a rag doll into an old bookcase. As a shower of books rained down on his fallen form, somewhere in the background he could hear someone calling his name, but it sounded distant and surreal.

Reaching out with one hand, he tried dragging himself from underneath the rubble of books and shelves, some inner voice telling him to move when his body just wanted to lie here, wanted to fall into the blackness that was threatening.

"Dean …?"

His voice was raspy and harsh to his own ears while his head swam and his heart hammered for something he was supposed to remember. Just as he was dragging himself clear of the rubble, a bitter laugh echoed through the room, the noted chill reminding Sam just what it was he was supposed to remember.

"_Mine…"_

The hiss sounded in his ears as a vice-like hold clamped down on his wrist, jerking him painfully to his feet. But it didn't stop there, the pull lifted sneakered feet off the ground, causing Sam to kick his legs out to try and gain purchase, but the hold only jerked him harder, causing him to cry out as he felt his shoulder leave its socket.

"_Mine…"_

The hiss filled the room, darting left and right, circling around as if taunting him by its very presence. The sound was deafening, maddening. He closed his eyes to try and shove it away, but still it echoed around him, hissing venomously in his ears before suddenly, it just stopped.

And Sam fell crashing to the floor.

The thud left no mistake that ribs were broken, or at the very least cracked, and Sam lay unmoving, stunned. His eyes open, he just stared with one cheek pressed to the floor. Unable to move, unable to answer that voice calling his name … it seemed so far away now, fading into the nothingness of his mind.

"_Mine…"_

The hiss came again along with the vice grip of before, only this time, it wrapped around Sam's throat as it lifted. His legs kicked wildly, his hands coming up to the invisible force cutting off the air to his lungs. Seconds ticked by, his kicking became feebler, his hand losing its fight against the unseen force holding his throat hostage. And just before he felt like his lungs were going to explode, fire erupted before him and he was falling again to hit the floor with another thud that took all consciousness with it. _Dad must have burned the sucker. _His last thought before the world faded to black and Sam sunk far away from the pain.

He didn't hear the door slam open, the ghost's hold on it now gone. He didn't hear his brother's anguished call of his name. Sam Winchester was lost in a world where ghosts and pain no longer existed. A world where fathers celebrate their son's birthdays, not drag them out to be the plaything of a vengeful spirit. A world where normal was a good thing … a world in which he belonged.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Family of Samuel Winchester?"

Both John and Dean stood quickly. They'd been at the hospital for what felt like years rather than hours. And since patience was not a Winchester trait (at least in the elder two) sitting there had been like their own personal hell.

For Dean it was far worse than that. When he'd been thrown from the room, a fear gripped him that he couldn't remember ever feeling, hadn't honestly felt since Sam was a baby and he'd carried him out of their blazing house. It consumed him so completely that he could feel the tendrils of panic lapping at his flesh, making him shudder as he tried the door over and over again.

"_SAM!"_

He could still hear the crashes from behind the closed door as if they were still happening, he could still see his brother's limp body lying on the floor in a heap when the door finally gave way. He could still hear something screaming. Only later … much later … would Dean realize it had been his voice that filled the mansion's room with terror as his kid brother lay broken on the floor.

"I'm Dr. Joseph Hafer, Sam's attending physician."

"How's Sam?"

His father's voice snapped Dean out of his daze to look between his father and the doctor. The man was young, or at least the brown hair and lineless face would indicate, but looking closely at deep brown eyes, there was an age within that belied his youthful appearance.

"He's recovering."

"What? Where? Can I see him?"

"Mr. Winchester … "

"I need to see Sam."

"Mr. Winchester, I need you to come with me, there's some things we need to discuss."

The doctor glanced to Dean as if to say _privately _but John just gave him a look. Anything he had to say, he could say in front of his other son. Sighing, Dr. Hafer nodded his acknowledgement and motioned down the hallway.

"This way please."

The room they were led to held but one table in its small interior. A young blonde woman of perhaps 30 sat at the table, briefcase open on the table, and a notebook in hand. John paused at the doorway, eyeing the woman.

"Have a seat, Mr. Winchester."

John reluctantly sat, but when Dean, defiant as always, refused, he tugged on his arm until the younger man sat at his side.

"What's this about? How's my son."

"Alive."

The sarcasm in the woman's voice nearly dripped from her mouth like venom, causing both John and Dean to turn their heads and eye her with a fair amount of suspicion.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, Dean, this is Sandra Peterson, she's a case worker for Child Protective Services, she'll be handling your son's case … "

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John sat stunned, his gaze drifting from the doctor to the social worker and back again.

"Let me get this straight … you think I … hurt my son?"

Sandra Peterson took out her notebook, her eyes scanning over the information they had on file before looking back to John Winchester.

"Exactly how did Sam get hurt, Mr. Winchester?"

He and Dean had already thought of the fall back plan on their way to the hospital. It was one of the Winchester Prime Directives (behind _Look after Sammy_, of course) … always have a plan; always have your ass covered.

"He went out with friends. When he didn't come home on time Dean and I went to look for him. We saw a group of kids run from the old Fountain place, we investigated and found Sam. The best we can guess is he was jumped."

Sandra Peterson was what you would call an old soul. A still young woman of about 30, her age went well beyond her years. With blonde hair still her own color, and piercing blue eyes that hid behind the glasses perched on her nose, she gazed at Sam's father with a suspicious look. She had seen this before … too many times to count. What was worse was that most of the men (and women) who were abusers never got caught. Most of them kept their children, who in turn ended up being abusers themselves. She eyed the older son, Dean, and wondered if this was the case with him.

"And what about Asheville, North Carolina?"

John blinked, his mouth opening to retort the injuries Sam had sustained there, but she cut him off.

"And Clarion, Iowa? Was he jumped there, too, Mr. Winchester?"

Suddenly John's temper riled, his face flashed anger and he started to rise out of his seat. The only thing steadying him was a grip on his shoulder … Dean's grip that was so damn tight his knuckles were no doubt white from the effort. Seems John wasn't the only Winchester angered.

"I'll have you know I have never laid a hand on Sam! Never!"

"Mr. Winchester…"

It was Dr. Hafer that spoke this time, his voice calm and steady despite the circumstances.

"You son has a dislocated shoulder, two fractured ribs, bruising in his abdomen, chest, and back, a concussion, and a broken wrist. But the worst and most damaging evidence is that he was choked. He has a clear and very distinct hand print around his throat that is too large to be made by a child…."

John swallowed, his hands shaking at the very idea that someone could think he would hurt his baby.

"Can I see my boy?"

"Until this matter is cleared, I'm afraid neither you nor Dean will be permitted visitation."

"What? But he's my brother!"

Dean, having been the steadying hand of reason throughout this entire ordeal, suddenly sprang to his feet, green eyes going wild with fright … the very real fear that he might not ever get to see Sam closing in on him hard and fast.

"And your brother is now the state's concern."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

It was perhaps the longest three weeks in the history of the world. Dean was certain that nothing would have taken longer, not even the apocalypse. But, as he and John sat waiting for the judge to come back, he glanced around nervously then looked to his father.

"Why isn't Sammy here?"

"Maybe he's still too sick."

Dean eyed his father with one of those _yeah right _looks, his stare pinning the elder Winchester down.

"They've given you health reports on him, dad, you know he was doing fine."

John nodded. They had kept him informed of everything and anything having to do with Sam except let him _see _Sam. It had all but driven him insane. Twice he had tried to sneak in to see his boy, but they had posted guards … _guards _outside of his son's door as if John were some sort of criminal or something. The fact that Sam was not here, at the hearing the state had for his custody, worried John more than he was willing to let on to Dean.

Pulled from his thoughts as the judge re-entered, he rose as instructed, then lowered back down beside his eldest.

Judge Matthews looked at the Winchester's, his gaze steely and hard as he spoke in that gruff voice that said he meant business. He had seen a lot of things in his day, a lot he didn't care to repeat, and while he couldn't stop most things from happening … he could do this.

"Mr. Winchester, after reviewing your son's case thoroughly, I have decided to strip you of all of your parental rights and remand custody of Samuel Winchester over to the state of Illinois."

John's face instantly paled, his eyes staring in disbelief at the evil man that had done this.

"You … you can't!"

Dean sat stunned, too stunned for that moment to even speak.

"I have seen a lot of abuse in my days, Mr. Winchester, a lot of which I could do nothing about. This … I can fix this, and I will. Court's adjourned."

As the gavel slammed down on the bench, Dean's heart shattered into a million pieces. He heard an ear splitting scream without even realizing it was he that was screaming.

"Noooooooooo!!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN


	2. Chapter 2

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

I do have to make one strong point for this chapter. This was ten years ago, and as such cell phones were just not very predominant, and even then, they were those huge bulky things that stayed in your car. So, Sam can't call John or Dean.

See, I do own them … and there's definitely more hugging in their future! Yeah, ok, so I don't own them, and hell will probably freeze over before Dean gets all chick-flicky … but a girl can dream, can't she?

I wanted to say thank you to all that reviewed! Your support is so greatly appreciated! And a special thanks to sammygirl1963 … your nudge made me feel loved!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

To say Sam Winchester was stubborn was like saying a Tyrannosaurus Rex was kind of big, or that a Great White Shark was sort of scary. He had an uncanny ability to connect with almost anyone on any level … at least most of the time. But when things did not go as he felt they should (not necessarily _his _way, but the way they were supposed to go) then he was this brick wall of obstinacy.

Sandra Peterson learned this well by the time Sam was scheduled to be released.

"Now Samuel, we're …"

"Sam."

"Pardon?"

"My _name_, it's _Sam_. S. A. Mmmmm." The last said with an exaggeration that had her pausing and lifting a well tailored brow.

"Well, _Sam_ … it looks like you are due to be released today."

"Good, where's my dad?"

"I'm afraid your dad won't be picking you up today."

"Then where's Dean?"

"Not Dean either."

His arms folded across his chest and he gave her a look she had never seen in a child before. The look was petulant, yes, but something else was there … something almost dangerous, as if this boy who had been so abused would cause harm to get back to those who had hurt him.

"Then _I'm _not going anywhere either."

"I'm afraid it's not going to work like that, Sam."

The glare he shot her would have killed her instantaneously had looks actually been able to kill. A cold chill ran up her spine then, though later she would say she was just having a bad day.

Sighing, she laid a bag down on the bed beside him. "Here, I brought you a change of clothes. I'm going to go speak with your doctor, then I'll be back and we can go."

The glare of death he gave her was not something she'd soon forget.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

If looks could kill, John Winchester would have dropped down dead at the deadpan his eldest son was giving him. It seems both his boys had that death glare down pat.

"So what? We're just going to _allow _them to take Sam?"

"We didn't allow anything, Dean! We went to court, we lost!"

"And since when has being on the losing side ever stopped you before, dad?"

Dean was exasperated. It wasn't like his dad to surrender, not to anything or anyone … especially when there was so much at stake.

"Since it's what Sam wants."

"What Sam wants? Are you crazy? How do you know what Sam wants? Did he tell you?"

"Yes!"

"When? When did he tell you, dad, because I don't remember you being allowed to even see Sam."

John turned from the bottle he was currently nursing in the crap hotel they were holed up in to stare at his eldest, a brief smile cracking the façade, it coming to mask the hurt he felt.

"Before."

"Before? Before what, dad?"

"Before the hunt, Dean, he told me he hated me."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"There he is!"

Sam was nearly to the elevator when they spotted him. He only glanced back a second before he darted down a hallway and took off running faster than any normal 14 year old should be able to run.

"Stop that kid!"

He dodged a doctor, ducked under an orderly, and slid between the legs of some fat nurse. Dean would have teased him for a month over that one, but Dean wasn't there … something Sam Winchester was trying to rectify.

Turning several corners, he saw his home stretch in way of the emergency room, and took off down the hallway in a sprint.

"There he goes, get him!"

One security officer came charging from a hallway to his left, causing Sam to duck and roll. A well placed kick to the man's knee had him crumbling to the ground before Sam was scrambling to his feet once more.

He nearly made it to the door when another security guard grabbed him. He received a punch learned straight from Dean for his efforts, but in doing so it slowed him down. All in all, it took four guards to hold and retain Sam Winchester, and two more to help manhandle him into the backseat of Sandra Peterson's car.

It was a good thing she had child safety locks, for he tried a mad escape from the moving car on the highway.

He didn't act like the normal abused child, but frankly that wasn't her problem. She did her job, she weighed the evidence … and it clearly pointed to the fact that John Winchester was abusing his youngest son.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean lowered to the chair next to his father, the urge to throttle the man he idolized growing stronger and stronger by the second. Taking in a deep breath … _One … two … three … _he let it out languidly before talking slowly. Oh so slowly to keep from blowing up and punching his father just to knock some sense into him.

"You said you hated him too, dad."

"Yeah, but that was retaliation, he said it first."

"What are you, seven? Dad, he's a kid, of course he said it first!"

John turned to look at his eldest, the fear so clearly written on his face … the fear that made it far easier to let them take Sam than to watch Sam walk away of his own volition.

"What if he told them all those awful things? What if he wanted to leave and not come back?"

Dean leaned in and grabbed John by the shirt collar and tugged him close just so he could see the seriousness in his eyes.

"Are you going to sit here and wonder? Or are you going to get off your ass and find out for sure?"

John stared incredulously at his son, wondering when the boy had grown up. He guessed it was the moment he placed his baby brother in his arms.

"The way I see it, dad, we have a hunt to do. If Wendigos and Demons aren't any match for the Winchester's, then CPS should be a piece of cake."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam sat on the floor in the small room they had placed him in, his glare on the door, his arms folded across his chest. The bruises he bore now were from guards and attendees wrestling him first from the hospital, then from Sandra Peterson's car to wherever this was.

He only showed an ounce of life as the lock clicked and the door opened to allow a fat, balding man entrance into a room that was his.

"Good afternoon, Sam."

He was met with a blank, defiant stare from the fourteen year old, something he would have expected from a runaway, but not from a child that was removed from an abusive home.

"I'd like to introduce you to your foster parents; this is Fred and Maureen Barber."

Sam glanced behind the man in desperate need of a hair weave to the couple entering. The man wasn't tall, but he was stocky and packed a lot of weight that seemed to be pure muscle. The woman was petite, red headed, and made Sam instantly ill. He hated them both.

Looking directly at the woman as she offered a small smile, he smirked. "My mother's dead. Don't think you can fill those shoes until you plan to join her."

The man, Fred, gave Sam a look that he should have recognized. The bald man gasped, and then shot Sam a stern look.

"Listen to me Samuel, you are lucky that the Barber's want you! Most children don't often get foster parents for …"

"Lucky? Oh, you call snatching me from my family and shoving me with these two is going to get you brownie points, baldy?"

Dean would have been so proud!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Hey Caleb, it's John."

Dean sat, watching his father from his bed in this crap motel. The TV turned down; he flipped through the channels at a rapid pace, something that would have caused Sam to toss a pillow at his head.

Sammy … just the thought of his little brother caused an ache in his chest that no amount of pain killer was going to alleviate.

"Listen Caleb, I need your help. No, it's not a job … well, not your traditional job."

Flip.  
Flip.  
Flip.

"It's Sam. A hunt went bad and he got hurt…"

Flip.  
Flip.

"No, he's okay, it's just that … "

Flip.  
Flip.  
Flip.  
Flip.

"Child Protective Services thought I was abusing him and took him away."

Flip. Flip. Flip. 

"Well, of course I tried stealing him back; they had his room guarded like Fort Knox."

Flip. Flip.

"Yeah, Caleb, I know … you could get in and out of there before I could salt and burn a vengeful spirit."

FlipFlipFlipFlip.

"So you'll help?"

Flipflipflip.

"Thanks, Caleb … I owe you big on this one."

The remote paused as soon as the motel phone rested back in its cradle and Dean looked to John expectantly.

"He's on his way."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

They drove up to the heart of suburbia in the middle of the night. Sam stared out the window of the nondescript van but said nothing of the plush, well-manicured lawns or the fact that every third house looked the same. It was what he had always wanted, right? So why was his stomach tying in knots with each mile that took him further from the hospital where surely Dean and his father had known where he was?

_And just where was dad and Dean anyway?_

"Get out of the car."

He blinked from his thoughts to see Mr. Barber leave the van. His wife was already on her way to the house that, for all the normalness it offered, made Sam ill.

"Now."

He looked to the man and snorted before doing as told. The tone the man held should have triggered all the warning signs in Sam's head; he was, after all, a smart boy. But, growing up the way he did, he faced ghosts and demons, not men with attitudes, unless you counted John Winchester's exasperation at his youngest.

Glancing around, he honestly thought of running, of just taking off, but he didn't know where he was. Better to get his bearings and then find a phone and make a call to Pastor Jim or Caleb. Maybe Bobby would swing by and pick him up in the middle of the …

"Are you listening to me, Samuel?"

"It's Sam."

The sarcasm was plain to hear in his voice, the eye roll he gave almost rattled as he stepped into the house, only to have a hand grip his arm and jerk him around to come face to face with Fred Barber.

"It's whatever I want it to be, got it, boy?"

There was venom to the man's voice, but Sam only snorted. Who did this asshole think he was anyway? Sam didn't listen to the mighty John Winchester, and he was his father, what made him think he was going to listen to him?

"Yeah, whatever…"

No sooner had those two words left his mouth and he was turning despite the grip on his arm when the lights flashed in his head and he staggered. It took him a second, as his head swung and he stumbled back into the wall, to realize he was hit. Bringing a hand to his jaw, he looked at the man who, until that moment, he'd sorely underestimated.

"Are we on the same page now, Samuel?"

Sam stared, the back of his hand pressed against the side of his mouth where a trickle of blood tainted his skin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you."

All the warning signs flashed at that moment. Sam could almost hear Dean's voice yelling at him, telling him to run as fast as he could. Fred Barber took a step forward and that's all it took to heed Dean's inside his head warning. Striking out with a fist, he turned to dart for the door, but no matter how well John trained his boy, he was training him to fight the supernatural … not a man who outweighed him by at least sixty pounds and several inches. He just gripped the doorknob when he was jerked back and tossed across the room to crash into a small table and lamp, his weight staggering the three to the floor in a crash that should have alerted the world what was happening … but no one came. Not Maureen from wherever she had disappeared to. Not the police called from some suspicious neighbor. And not John Winchester, riding in on a black truck flanked by a black impala at the last minute to save the day like the hero he was.

Sam Winchester was all alone … with a man that was far worse than they had claimed his father could ever be.

"I was sort of hoping you'd put up a fight."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

They had thought John Winchester was the devil in disguise. They had thought that young Sam was better off in the care of others. It was for his own good, they had said. He deserved far better than he'd been given thus far, they'd said.

And they handed him over to a monster.

As Sam hit the table and crashed to the floor one thought came to mind. One terrible thought that would haunt him. _This was normal._ And then a rough hand jerked him to his feet, the blow delivered to his stomach taking whatever breath he'd had left after that collision course with the wall, table, and lamp, and sucked it right out of his lungs, leaving him gasping as he keeled over. The only thing keeping him on his feet was that fist holding tightly the fabric of his shirt.

"Now, we're going to try this again. What I say around here goes. All I want in response from you is a 'Yes Sir', am I clear?"

Sam blinked, trying to clear his head … trying to get his fogged mind to wake up, because this was so _not _happening. But, the shake he received told him otherwise. This was happening, and unfortunately, it was happening to him.

"Answer me boy!"

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting the very devil himself, and for an instant, fear struck. His mouth opened to say something, to give him what he wanted. _I hate you! _But then something stopped him. Something far greater and more tangible than the fear he felt. His father. To give this monster that respect, he would be betraying the only man who deserved it.

"Screw. You."

Anger emanated from Fred Barber so thick, that for an instant it was damn near suffocating. An instant that ended with an explosion of pain as a fist hit his side just under his ribs hard enough to make him nauseous. A second jolt of his fist finished the job and Sam listed to the side and expelled the contents of his stomach.

The sound of his retching brought relief in way of Mrs. Barber. Hustling from the kitchen she eyed the boy on his hands and knees, puking, and her husband, fists clenched, hovering above him, about to deliver another blow. Sam looked up, his eyes begging for something when she tsked at him in pity then turned and walked back into the kitchen.

He stared in disbelief, the man behind him forgotten for that split second before a hand gripped in his hair, jerking his head back before another burst of lights in his head was followed by an explosion of pain.

The last thing Sam remembered was hateful words vowing to teach him a lesson before the blessed darkness claimed him.

SNSNSNSNSNSN


	3. Chapter 3

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

I have my very own Sam and Dean! I took them out to play with them, to show my friend Daisy, but we were fighting over who got to play with Wet!Sam … and his head came off!!!

Thanks for the huge support Daisy; I couldn't have done it without ya! And thanks to the astounding reviews I am getting! They mean so much!

Since the question was posed last chapter, I wanted to reiterate that Sam is 14, making Dean 18, so CPS would not have taken Dean away too, they couldn't have, he's an adult.

I'm soooo sorry this chapter has taken longer (I'm trying to get out one a week.) but life has been kicking me in the buttocks (to quote Forest Gump!) so hopefully no one is too mad at me!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"It's been three weeks Caleb, and you're telling me there's nothing?"

"Apparently they felt it was in his best interest to move him out of the county. It seems his father was considered a huge risk to his health."

John snorted at that then ran a hand over his face, letting out a slow breath that was supposed to be calming. It wasn't anything of the sort.

"What if he thinks I abandoned him, Caleb?"

The words were so quiet it was a wonder they made voice at all. It was so unlike John Winchester … so much so that Caleb had to lean close to hear him. Not liking the sound of defeat in his friend's voice, he laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat before rising.

"We'll find him, Johnny, mark my words … we'll find Sam if it's the last thing we ever do."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Open this door, Sam!"

The pounding on the door did little to break his resolve, though Sam did fear the consequences of his actions. He had been _made _to fear them! Fred Barber was everything (and more!) that they claimed John Winchester to be. He still had the bruises to prove it. His cheek still bore an ugly greenish mark that was fading though still prominent. Most of what he was subjected to was hidden under his clothing … hidden from view. His ribs ached, his stomach had the black and blue marks of Fred's fist, and his back had a line of bruises from being shoved into whatever happened to be in his way as Fred tossed him about like a rag doll.

But the worst part was that his wife, Maureen … did nothing. No, she never struck out at Sam, never laid so much as a finger on him … but she did nothing to stop it either. _You brought it all on yourself, Sam. _He could still hear her deadly betrayal after that first incident with Fred.

And he thought his father's apathy was bad.

"I'm warning you boy, once I get in this door…."

There was a thud as Fred threw himself into the door, causing it to give just a little under the man's weight. Sam jerked upright, his gaze swinging from door to window and back. Another thud hit followed immediately by a crack.

That's all it took to get Sam moving.

With nothing to grab but himself, he darted to the window and tried pushing it up, only to come to the very real (and scary!) conclusion that it wasn't going to budge. Another thud, another crack and sweat started beading on his brow. If Mr. Barber got into the room now, there was no telling what pain he would inflict.

Moving quickly, he went to the dresser, and with a shove, got it moving until it was in front of the door. It wouldn't keep the monster out indefinitely, but it would bide his time. Hazel eyes quickly darted around the room until finally deciding on the only thing he could. The chair he grabbed was heaved through the window, making his escape known to the monster that no amount of salt was going to deter from kicking Sam's ass.

THUD!

"Oh you little bastard!"

THUD!

And the dresser slid just a bit causing panic in the fourteen year old boy who thought monsters only existed in the outside world where his father and brother hunted. Without hesitation, Sam scampered out the window; the shards of glass that bit into his skin did little to halt his escape. The only pause he made was at the ledge, his gaze drifting down to the ground below. The door slamming open broke the reverie.

"Get in here you little bastard!"

His fear of Fred Barber was much stronger than his fear of falling, so Sam relied on the blind faith that something good had to be on his side, if only for just this once. Just as a hand came swiping through the window to make a grab for the boy, Sam jumped, his short plummet landing him on the Barber's lawn to duck and fall into a roll as his ankle gave under the impact.

"Get your ass back here, Sam!"

The sheer power of that voice had Sam running despite the throb in his ankle. Across the lawn and toward the woods his long legs carried him. He wasn't fool enough to think anyone was going to help him anymore and he knew, even with his head start, that Freddie boy could just get in the car and chase him if he stuck to the street. So Sam used the sense that John Winchester gave him and headed for the woods. He might not be able to outrun Fred Barber, but he could damn sure outsmart him.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"I found him!"

Both John and Caleb jumped as the hotel door slammed open and Dean strode in looking more alive than he had since this whole fiasco began.

"You did? Where?!"

John was already on his feet and grabbing for his keys before Caleb even rose from the chair.

"Little town called Jerome, two counties over from here."

Already the three men were moving out the door collectively, Dean, followed by John while Caleb brought up the rear.

"Seems a man named Fred Barber, along with his loving wife Maureen were just dying to add to their family with our Sam."

John nodded and opened the truck door, but Dean's hand on his arm paused him halfway into the driver's seat.

"Sam isn't the only kid the couple has fostered."

"Oh?"

"Every time they take in a kid, a boy, he disappears. Runaway they claim, for the Barbers have taken on what they considered troubled kids."

"But you think there's more to it than running away?"

Dean nodded. John closed the truck door and started the ignition.

"We have to find Sammy … now."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam had been running for over an hour when his ankle finally gave out on him. Dropping down to the earth below, he leaned back against a tree, his chest heaving. He'd stopped hearing Fred's angry threats (promises if he was caught) about thirty minutes ago, but had kept on despite exhaustion, despite pain … and the worst of all … despite the fear that was trying to consume him.

Sam Winchester had fought ghosts, demons, werewolves, and poltergeists (not to mention countless other monsters that most claimed did not exist) and even on occasion had a wrestling match with one elder brother (who was a pain in the ass) and the frequent shouting match with one ill tempered father (who was an even bigger pain in the ass) … but never had he faced off with a man who took pleasure in causing him pain. It was enough to make him want to get up and run again … if only his body would cooperate.

In the three weeks he'd been with Fred and Maureen Barber, he'd been shoved, punched, kicked, thrown, and pummeled more than any ghost had ever done. His ribs, back, and stomach took countless abuse, for Fred had, after that first night, laid off his face. Face hits left evidence (not that Sam went anywhere), though the bruising across his stomach and back was enough to make Sam wince when he'd taken a shower that morning.

Apparently Sam ignoring him while reading a book had pissed the man off. But then again, _everything _pissed him off. Sam learned that the very first minute he walked into the Barber's house.

Now it was growing dark and he was in the woods, alone, without having a plan. His father had drilled into him since he could walk about having a plan for everything … but here he was, without one … lost.

God he missed his dad. Truth be told, he regretted that fight they had before all this began. He'd give anything to be on a hunt right now … playing backup to Dean. He missed Dean the most. He'd go back to the Barber's if he thought Dean was going to rescue him. If he thought Dean and his dad were going to come charging in and save the day.

_Just where were they anyway?_

He'd expected them to come to the hospital, but that woman Sandra Peterson had said he wasn't _safe _with them. As if she knew what safe was! She was the bitch that packed him up and shoved him off to Fred Barber! Oh yeah, she knew what safe was all right!

Frowning, Sam looked to the darkening sky and sighed. He had no idea how to find his dad or brother (since they obviously couldn't find him). Were they even still at that hotel? If so, would his father even want to see him? Part of Sam believed that maybe his dad _left _him here to the wolves. _"I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you." _But then Sam thought of Dean … and he knew better.

With a stubborn set to his Winchester jaw, he pushed up from the ground, his left ankle favored as it throbbed with any amount of weight, and he set off. He might not be able to find his dad and brother, but he certainly knew where Pastor Jim lived.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"What do you mean Sam's not here?"

John Winchester was not a patient man by any stretch of the imagination, and while he would never win a Father of the Year award, he was even less patient when it came to the safety of his sons.

This man at the door was already passed trying his patience.

"He broke out my window and took off. If you ask me, the kid's crazy."

John's face grew red with anger, his hand coming up to enunciate each word spoken with a hard poke to the other man's chest when Caleb stepped in.

"Tell me … why did Sam find it necessary to break a window to get out?"

Fred Barber narrowed his eyes at Caleb and then John before he glowered at both men as if they might be as intimidated by him as the children he inflicted fear upon.

"Who in the hell do you think you are, coming in here and _demanding _anything?"

It was Dean, who had been silent up until then, that pushed his way between his father and Caleb to grab the man by his shirt and slam him into the side of the house.

"Listen, asshole, I don't have time to play nice, besides, that's my brother's job, I just want you to tell me where Sam is, and I'm not going to ask again."

Fred stared at Dean, his gaze not wavering, not even as the gun was pressed to his abdomen or the click of the safety coming off could be heard. He was a stubborn bastard, and surely would have died that day had Maureen Barber not stepped forward at that moment.

"He was a bad boy! Worse than the others. I tried to tell him that he was bad, Fred tried to show him, but he didn't listen. He ran … into the woods. Broke our window. What a bad, bad boy!"

"Oh you sonofabitch, what did you do to my brother?!"

Dean slammed the man into the wall hard enough to make his head rattle, and was actually fingering the trigger when Caleb pulled him off him.

"Later Ace, we'll have time for that later. Right now we need to find Sam."

Dean turned to see his father already racing for the woods, his voice echoing the one word that has been plaguing him since this whole thing began.

"Sam!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Yeah, I'd like to make a collect call."

Sam had cut left a path left to make his way from the woods to a road, landing himself less than a quarter mile from a gas station. He actually grinned, and would have run if his ankle wasn't throbbing. But Sam had forced himself onward with a stubborn set to his Winchester jaw, and plunged forward until he found himself at the payphone just outside.

"Number please."

"Five five five, eight nine six, zero three one nine."

"Who is calling?"

"Sam Winchester."

"One moment please."

Ring.

Come on, come on, Pastor Jim, please answer!

Ring.

Please, God, if I've never asked you for anything, please let him be home.

Ring.

Oh God, he's not there, he's …

Ring.

"Hi…" 

"Pastor Jim, it's Sam, I need … "

"… you have reached the home of Jim Murphy, I'm sorry I can't…"

"We got an answering machine. Hello? Hello?"

Sam's chest deflated and he just dropped the receiver in his hand to lean against the phone booth and suck in a deep breath.

_Don't cry. Don't you dare cry!_

But even through his command, Sam could feel his breath hitch, feel his eyes start to burn and the dampness start to fill them.

"Hey kid, you ok?"

Sam's head jerked to the man speaking, and his eyes narrowed … after Fred Barber, he wasn't liking anyone around him, especially someone he didn't know.

So Sam Winchester gave his best glare of death.

The man held up his hands in surrender and grinned.

"Hey kid, it's ok, you just look like you been ten rounds with something, thought maybe I could help."

Every instinct inside Sam told him to just keep silent, to keep his game face on and glare for all he was worth.

"I just … "

But he was hurt, tired, scared, and most of all lonely. Sam wanted, more than anything else in the world, to find comfort and safety, even if that came in way of a stranger offering to help.

"I just … need to get back to my dad."

"Yeah?"

Sam nodded, but offered no more explanation than that. What was he supposed to say anyway? They were hunting a ghost, he got hurt, and as a result CPS thought his father abused him, so they, being the good organization that they were, sent him to live with a monster? Oh no, that just wouldn't go over well.

"Yeah … "

"Where is your dad?"

Sam bit his lip. Maybe he was telling too much, maybe he'd told too much already. Maybe he should wait right here and John Winchester would come riding up to save the day like he always had.

"Blue Earth, Minnesota."

"That's a pretty long ways off."

Sam sighed dejectedly and nodded, "I know."

The man paused, seeming to look thoughtful for a moment then nodded.

"I'm not going the whole way, but I can certainly get you closer."

Sam actually pushed further back into the booth as if it would offer some sort of protection. As if it had a salt line against the boogey men of the world.

"If you'd rather stay here …"

Sam still paused, his gaze on the man but he stood unmoving.

"Okay then." And he looked to the sky for a moment, as if considering, then nodded as he started away. "Just hope it doesn't rain."

Sam looked to the man's back, panic starting to set in as he said but one word. One damning word.

"Wait … "

There was a blankness to the man's face for just a moment before it came … that lecherous grin that lit a dangerous spark to his eyes. But it was all gone before he turned to Sam and offered a warming smile.

"Great. I'm Jeff, by the way."

"Sam."

"Well, Sam, it looks like we're going to be traveling companions for a bit…"

Sam nodded and stepped forward to follow Jeff to his car … a black SUV that's best quality was that it was getting Sam out of this hell.

Settling inside the car, Sam leaned back against the seat, curled between it and the door as if getting as far away from Jeff as he could.

Jeff, for his part, said nothing, just started the vehicle and headed onto the road. After about thirty minutes, Sam began to relax, and an hour into the trip, his eyes were closing and he was nearly asleep when he heard Jeff once more.

"I noticed you don't have any bags."

"Huh?"

Sam looked over, with a sleepy expression that said he wasn't quite his astute self just yet.

"Bags. You don't have any bags."

"Yeah, I kind of left in a hurry."

"Uh huh … "

Silence loomed for several minutes before Jeff spoke again.

"Seems to me, a boy out traveling at night with no bags … no one's going to come looking for him … are they, Sam?"

SNSNSNSNSNSN


	4. Chapter 4

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

God, if I owned them the summer break would be longer … cause I'd be having fun with my boys!!!!

Please note that I have not been to any of the places mentioned (except in Chapter Two, I have been to Asheville, NC and Clarion, IA … exciting, eh?) so the street names and such are of my imagination.

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews I am getting! It means the absolute world!

I must apologize for the EXTREME delay in getting this chapter out. I have done what I hate, and that is taking forever in updating. I have to blame life and a horrid string of bad luck for the last two weeks. I'm not sure it is getting better, but I will try and have an update in a week. Let's hope I can fulfill that promise.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Pastor Jim … ?"

"Yes … who's calling?"

"It's Sam."

"Oh my Lord, Sam! Where are you, child?"

"I'm with … "

"_Who the hell are you talking to, Boy?"_

"_No one, I just … "_

"Sam … "

"_And how in the hell did you get out? I swear, I leave you alone for five minutes and you figure a way out!! What am I gonna do with you, huh?"_

"_Get away from me, you bastard!"_

"SAM!!!"

There was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh before the line went dead, leaving Father Jim Murphy standing there, speechless as the phone made that God-awful noise that it does when the line has been disconnected but is still off the hook.

Blinking away his shock, he quickly hung up and hit 69 to recall the number. As the phone rang Jim Murphy did the only thing he could … he prayed.

"Fast Lane Motel…"

Jim blinked at the name, but discounted it rather quickly; this was neither the time nor the place to be wondering about names.

"Excuse me, but my name is Father Jim Murphy, and I was wondering …"

"Oh I'm sure we have girls that could do that Father, we have girls for everything."

Paling, Jim loosened his collar and shook his head.

"No, I need to know if there is a young boy there, Sam, he's 14, with a man."

Jim could hear gum cracking in the background, the sound of a pencil tapping, and God knows the sound of one brain cell slowly cranking to work.

"Yeah, seems I do recall a kid … came in with his Uncle … said he was gonna make the boy a man…"

Laughter echoed into the line, but Jim was quick to cut her off.

"Where are you?"

"End of Main Street, right passed Echo Ridge."

"No, what I mean is, what city and state?"

"Roswell, Georgia … on the outskirts of town."

Jim hung up the phone and quickly called the number John Winchester had given him.

"Hello?"

"Hey Dean, is your dad there?"

"Pastor Jim? No, Dad and Caleb are out checking on a lead and …"

"I found him!"

"Found … Sam?"

"He's in Roswell, Georgia in a place called The Fast Lane Motel."

"How … ? I don't … ?"

"Something's wrong Dean. Someone was with him, and by the sounds of things Sam was not supposed to call. You, your dad, and Caleb need to get there and fast."

The line went dead and Pastor Jim was left standing there, cradling the phone for a minute before disconnecting and dialing again.

"Hey, Bobby, it's Jim … "

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"You are so gonna pay for that boy!"

It had been two weeks after leaving Fred and Maureen Barber that Sam had been able to sneak and use the phone. Two. Weeks. Days where he had been locked in a motel bathroom. Nights where he had been tied to a chair.

But Sam was a smart kid. A kid who knew when to bide his time, and despite the fact that he was as terrified of 'Jeff' as he had been of Fred Barber, Sam was raised by John Winchester, so he knew that everything, no matter how terrifying, could be killed if given the right ammunition. So Sam waited it out, waited until Jeff left him locked in a bathroom and left the motel to jimmy the lock.

Sometimes it paid to be brought up like a criminal.

Unfortunately for Sam, Jeff had forgotten something and caught him in the midst of his phone call. The back of his hand sprang across Sam's face, sending the teen backward with impact, and a muffled groan escaping his lips before he could stop it.

"Who were you calling?"

"No one."

Jeff moved in, again hitting the youth across the face … unlike Fred Barber, Jeff cared little if the marks he left were seen or not, they never stayed anywhere long enough to be noticed, and Sam was never out where anyone could see him anyway.

"You little bastard, who?!"

Sam coughed and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, not in the least surprised to see it come away bloody. Lifting his gaze to his current tormentor, something inside Sam snapped. Something in his Winchester blood just screamed out his stubborn pride and he smirked.

"The cops you sorry sonofabitch! And they are coming to arrest your sorry ass!"

The third hit to his face nearly left Sam in that black void, but before he could fully fall into that blissful nothingness, he was hauled to his feet and shoved toward the door.

"Just wait until we stop again, Sam, I'll really teach you a lesson!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam knew about lessons.

John Winchester had taught Sam lessons. His lessons usually entailed a stern talking to when he was younger (that's all it really took for a young Sam to feel contrite), to lessons of the more physical kind when he was older … usually in way of laps around this field or that, extra target practice, longer sparring matches with Dean. Something that made Sam see the error of his ways. All Sam really learned was how to survive in a world of ghosts and demons.

Then there was Fred Barber's lessons … lessons that came whether Sam had done anything wrong or not. Because you couldn't really count snorting at someone wrong enough to have the shit beat out of you, could you? His lessons were physical and violent … coming hard and fast before Sam could even brace for them. Those lessons taught Sam that not all monsters are dead … oh but they should be.

And finally there was Jeff. Jeff who Sam had thought was a nice guy trying to help a kid out. Jeff with no last name that Sam knew (not that Jeff knew Sam's either, for he'd refused to share no matter the cost!) who spoke in whispers on the phone when he thought Sam was asleep or was in the bathroom. Jeff who hit Sam for no reason. Sam had begun to think that there was no rhyme or reason to Jeff other than to instill fear in Sam.

Maybe it was that fear that had Sam remembering his father's lessons. _"Don't let your opportunities slip away Sam, always look at every angle."_

When Sam got into the SUV, for once, Jeff wasn't right there at the door shoving him in. For once Jeff wasn't breathing down his neck. He was too worried about cops showing up to take precaution, and Sam didn't let that opportunity slip to flip the child safety lock on the door as he got in and pulled it shut.

"I hope you're satisfied, you little shit!"

Sam just looked at him indifferently, his Winchester game face firmly in place.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Hey, John, it's me…"

"Joshua? Did you get him? How is … "

"He's not here."

"What do you mean, he's not there? You were the closest one, you weren't but an hour away, how could he not be there?"

"Whoever has Sam must have gotten wise, Johnny. The motel manager said he never even checked out, they were just … gone."

"Did you get a tag number? Anything?"

"Not even the direction they were heading. I'm sorry, John."

Nodding as if Joshua could see, John placed the motel phone back into the cradle and let out a deep breath as shaky fingers raked through his uncombed hair. How could he have let this happen? Sam slipped through his fingers three times now, and each time it left John feeling worse about the words he shared with his youngest just before the whole thing started.

"_Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too."_

He ignored the look Dean was giving him, ignored everything as he slumped onto the motel bed, settled his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.

"We lost him … again."

The words finally came muffled, the words of the mighty John Winchester's defeat once again. And he could feel it … the death stare of his eldest boring down on him. He tried very hard to ignore it, tried to pretend Dean wasn't giving him the Winchester glare of death, but finally he looked up and sighed.

"Quit looking at me like that, Dean."

"Why? So you can wallow in self pity some more?"

"What?"

Anger had started to replace that feeling of despair at the way Dean was speaking to him, so his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he stared right back to his son.

John just didn't have the petulance to master that death glare thing though.

"You know what! Get off your ass, quit feeling sorry for yourself, and let's find Sam!"

"We don't even know where to start …"

"Roswell!"

"Joshua is there, Sam isn't, he's just gone."

"Dad, if this was a hunt, would you give up because the ghost disappeared?"

"No, but this is different, Dean, this isn't a hunt, it's … "

"Isn't it? Cause the way I see it, Dad, this _is_ a hunt, our prey just isn't the typical salt and burn type."

Realization seemed to hit John Winchester all at once, and he nodded before rising and moving to the phone to dial.

"Hey, Joshua, it's John again. Hey, I want you to check all the roads leading out of Roswell. Check the gas stations and diners for any kid around Sam's age. Call me if you find anything … "

SNSNSNSNSNSN

They were somewhere near Atlanta when luck finally came Sam Winchester's way in way of a traffic jam. As traffic on the highway came to a dead halt, Jeff glanced over and glared.

"Don't even thinking about yelling for help!"

Sam just sat there, even closed his eyes feigning sleep as his arm shifted ever so slightly to hover over the seatbelt. He could feel Jeff's stare, but ignored it, just sat there until it finally shifted.

"If this damn traffic ever lets up, we'll be there soon."

"Where are we going?"

Jeff didn't even glance over as Sam spoke in a tone that said he didn't really care, he was feigning indifference, and Jeff seemed to buy into it.

"You let me worry about that, Sam. You should be worried about what happens when we get there."

He finger moved, clicking the seatbelt latch, though the weight of his hand kept it in place even as it unlocked.

"My dad really is looking for me…" 

"Yeah, and I'm really Elvis … back from the dead."

Sam glanced over and looked Jeff over with indifference, the impact of his fist on Sam's face obvious now as the bruises shown through on his cheek and jaw.

"You know what we do to unwanted ghosts?"

Jeff smirked rolled his eyes as if the very idea of listening to Sam (no matter what he was saying) was idiotic.

"No, kid, what?"

"We salt and burn them."

Jeff snorted and was about to reply when the door clicked and swung open. Before he even registered what was happening, Sam was taking off out of the car, his path up the car littered highway. Hard training was rewarded with Sam's agility to snake around cars without losing much speed; an action that had Jeff's angry shout lost amongst the throng of horn blasts and one angry shout as Sam trampled over the roof of a stopped car.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"John Winchester."

"You watching?"

"Watching what?"

They were staying in some small motel room off the highway in another place in the middle of somewhere that Sam was not. Already reaching for the remote, the eldest Winchester tucked the phone between ear and shoulder as he flipped the power on the television with the press of a button.

"News Channel."

Flipping up until he came to the scene of a huge traffic jam, John stared a minute, and was about to ask Bobby why he'd have him watch something so mundane when the woman's story switched gears.

"… _in what was thought to have been a run of the mill accident that blocked traffic on the interstate for a five mile stretch now has police baffled as the scene unfolded into something far more than a fender bender as this boy … "_

John drowned out the woman's words as the sight of Sam was seen racing over cars and across traffic toward the end of a stretch of road that was apparently a bridge. Police were seen running from one side, and a man giving chase on the other had his boy zigzagging across cars until finally he was at the steel rails of the bridge. John watched in horror as Sam … _his _Sam climbed over and jumped off the bridge just as the police were about to grab his arm.

"Holy shit … "

And the phone dropped to the floor as John stared at the television, only to glance to his eldest asleep in the bed beside his own.

"John? John … ?" 

He ignored the call of Bobby from the dropped phone, just stared in horror as people went into the river after his boy. His baby.

SNSNSNSNSNSN


	5. Chapter 5

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

God, if I owned the boys, I'd have them salt and burn my neighbors … and their damn cows too!

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews I am getting! It means the absolute world!

Apologies again that this has taken longer than expected, but sometimes life just kicks you in the ass. Not to whine to anyone (because most probably don't care, lol) but I have hillbilly neighbors that I think are related to The Benders. Anyway, to make a long story short, we got in a fight with them, and, to make us pay for error of our ways (note the dripping sarcasm), the inbred bastards ran my dog over. So, that is why it's taken me so long to write. If anyone has ever lost a pet, I'm sure you understand.

A special thanks to Sammygirl1963 for the nudging. I know this didn't get out by your birthday, but I hope all is forgiven!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

It was three weeks after jumping from that bridge that Sam walked upon the property of Pastor Jim Murphy. Three long weeks in which life was one whirlwind of events that Sam would have thought was part of a crazy dream had it not happened to him.

He'd emerged from the murky water of the river feeling very much like a drowned rat, and since he'd nearly been pulled under three times, twice by current and once by sheer exhaustion, Sam felt he had only been one step away from that lowly position.

Imagine what his dad would think of him then.

His youngest son taken down not by a ghost or a ghoul, but by a river that he didn't have the good sense not to jump into. Oh but Sam knew that if the police had gotten him that he could have had Jeff arrested, but he would have been taken straight back to CPS because they swore his father was abusing him. The thought alone made him snort … and it made him play the part of Superman and leap a tall bridge in a single bound.

Dean would be so proud!

But after that incident, Sam Winchester grew more cautious. With nothing to change into, he looked every bit the vagabond, though he refused to play the part of victim any longer. With a stolen knife that would have made his dad proud, he protected himself in the way he was taught as a Winchester.

Oh but he still needed to get across country, so the knife came in handy when hitchhiking. Once he hitched a ride with two modern day hippies who wanted to teach him not only the joys of pot, but every other drug known to man (and a few Sam was quite certain they made up!). He had to respectfully decline. Though when the male hippie tried to grab his arm, he gave him a scar he wouldn't soon forget.

He traveled again without incident with several people, though one man kept looking at him when he didn't think he was watching, which just creeped Sam out, so he got off at the next stop.

Twice he picked the lock successfully of some off the beaten path, run down motel to sleep. Without a credit card of his own he sort of had to make do with the Winchester tradition and steal when he could. Which is what led him to Rusty's bar.

Tall for his age, but definitely not big for his age, Sam stuck out like a sore thumb … especially when he picked up the pool cue. But, as luck would have it, there was always someone in every place that was a born sucker.

At least that's what Dean always said.

Here it was a guy named Lou. One that demanded he be the reigning champion no matter what … and he wasn't beyond intimidating his opponents into losing. Unfortunately for Lou, Sam was not easily put off. After facing demons, ghosts, poltergeists, werewolves, and his dad, one overgrown, testosterone riddled man was not going to deter the youngest Winchester.

When the entire bar laughed, Lou didn't take too kindly, and tried using brute force to make the kid eat crow. They laughed even harder when it was Sam who walked out with a pocket full of cash as Lou sat with his head back, nursing a busted nose.

Winchester's play for keeps.

Another botched hitched ride and Sam had to play a bit of chicken with a man's balls. About thirty miles outside of his destination, the man Sam was riding with decided to get touchy feely, leaving Sam to try and push him away, but Mr. Hands seemed to not want to listen, and in the end he had Sam's throat, and Sam had his knife to his balls, each threatening the other, but finally, with Sam's, "I'll take them with my last breath if I have to." Mr. Hands let go and Sam got out.

He walked the rest of the way to Jim's house.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Yes, I know, John. As soon as I hear something, I promise, I'll let you know."

Jim Murphy sat at his kitchen table mulling over the map he (along with the help of several other hunters) had put together on Sam's whereabouts since he'd been taken by CPS. But, for the last three weeks, since the incident of Sam on the news leaping off a bridge, the only places they had marked were places that other known hunters were … hunters that were currently on the look out for one Sam Winchester.

"Okay, John, I got it just…" About to say more, Father Jim Murphy paused as a knock sounded at his door. Most didn't come to the priest's home this late in the evening, so Jim's attention was immediately drawn to the sound at the door.

"Just one second."

Jim could hear Dean in the background questioning his dad as he, himself, went to answer the door. Grinning at the young man (because of his immense love for his brother) he pulled the door open only to stop dead in his tracks as he looked upon the object they had been seeking for months now.

"Sam?"

"_Yeah, Jim, you know, my missing son!"_

"Is it really you?"

Sam Winchester stood before Jim, the person he had been trying to get to all this time, and, without saying a word, flung himself at the man as tears filled his eyes. His father might be disappointed in him later, because crying was _not _the Winchester way, but he didn't care … relief flooded him like a dam breaking, and Sam Winchester was powerless to stop the emotions that came with it.

"It's ok, Sam … you're safe now."

"_What are you talking about Jim? Jim?! JIM!!"_

"Johnny! You're boy … he's here!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean listened to his father on the phone with Pastor Jim, and while he'd tried to remain quiet, as his father grew quiet, the questions began. _Where is Sam? Have they found him? Are there any leads?_

There would have been more, but in the midst of his barrage of questioning, his father grew slack, all expression leaving his face in a moment of disbelief before he spoke rather abruptly, "We'll be there soon."

John nearly dropped the phone from his hand as he turned to his eldest, a smile starting on his face. "Sam's at Jim's house. He's safe. Oh thank God, he's safe."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John Winchester didn't even have the music playing as he pressed the gas pedal nearly all the way to the floor in a race to get to his son. Glancing in the rearview, he spied Dean, keeping up perfectly to his speed.

_What if he still hates you?_

The patriarch Winchester tried pushing that thought from his head as he sped toward his destination … toward his son.

_You did leave him to be taken away._

Again he tried shoving that voice out of his head … the voice that sounded very much like his own when he was yelling at Sam.

_He'll hate you for allowing it, Johnny-boy._

His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, sending it to the floor.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean was the first out of the car as both truck and Impala skidded to a halt in front of Jim Murphy's house. Not waiting on his father, he rushed up the stairs and pounded on the door with a fist. Waiting on three seconds, he lifted his fist to pound again, and nearly pounded Pastor Jim's face as the door suddenly swung open.

"Where is he?"

"Relax Dean, he's sleeping."

Stepping back from the door, the man of the cloth allowed the young hunter into his home, where he glanced at Jim, the look conveying everything.

"Upstairs, first door on the right." 

And then Dean was gone, off to see for himself that Sam was indeed okay.

John stood in the doorway, watching Dean run off to see his brother … a brother who loved and worshipped his eldest son, a place usually given to one's father.

_As if you deserve the title of hero!_

Jim turned to look at him, as if knowing all along that John Winchester stood there.

"You can come in, John, you'll have to face him eventually."

"In everything I've ever faced … ghosts, werewolves, demons … I've never been more afraid, and all I'm facing is my son."

"He loves you, John."

"Yeah? Well, he _said_ otherwise."

"He's a teenage boy with the temper of his father, what do you expect?"

"Dean was never that way."

"And Sam is _not _Dean. It's high time you realized that."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean Winchester stood at the doorway to the room his brother slept in … just staring at the shape within the bed. It was several minutes before he worked up the nerve to move from that spot, though once he did, he parked himself on the very edge of Sam's bed … just to watch him sleep … to _breathe_.

Slowly, Dean himself began to breathe, and reached out a hand to brush his baby brother's unruly bangs from his face. It was then he noticed the faded bruise on his cheek, the frown that formed almost instantaneous.

"Damn, Sammy, what happened?"

He didn't get an answer, though he hadn't expected one as his kid brother just took in rhythmic breaths … Dean's whisper not phasing his sleep one bit.

Dean, despite the bruises on Sam's face, took that opportunity (because he'd never do it while Sam was awake!) to lavish attention on the baby of the Winchester family. Calloused fingers brushed through his brother's hair as he sat and watched him sleep, breathe, _live_.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, kiddo."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

It was the next afternoon by the time Sam woke, this being the first good night's sleep he's had since leaving the hospital, and then it was mostly drug induced. Sitting up slowly, he stretched, and then looked toward the window. Light filtered into the room, telling him that he'd slept through the evening, the night, and well into the afternoon. With a lackadaisical rise from the bed, he stretched once more before shuffling to the door, then slowly down the stairs. As soon as he entered the living room, he paused at seeing Dean, and a slow grin formed.

Dean had gotten very little sleep the night before … he kept waking only to check on Sam before he felt all was right once again. Looking haggard, he heard the footsteps coming from upstairs and rose instantly, hope welling in green eyes. As his brother came into view and the smile formed, Dean was across the floor in an instant. Strong arms wrapped about his baby brother, tugging him against his chest and he just held on.

"I thought I lost you, kiddo."

It was minutes later when the affection was pulled away from. The Winchester's (at least the eldest two) were not known for displays of affection, but sometimes you just had to shove that out the window and say to hell with it.

"Are you okay?" And Dean turned Sam's face to the side to get a look at the faded bruise on his cheek. "Is that from your death defying leap off that bridge?"

"No …" Came the whisper as Sam caught sight of the other Winchester in the room. Hazel eyes stared at the man who, the last words he remembered were that John Winchester hated him.

Dean, seeing the direction his brother was staring, stepped back, allowing John and Sam that moment … some time to make amends.

John Winchester had been terrified of this moment … the moment when he would have to face his youngest. He rose from the couch in the moment Sam spotted him, and while he tried to smile, just a little, he failed.

It was Sam that made the first move. Tears filled his eyes despite the fact he tried desperately to hold them at bay. And in that moment, just before he broke into sobs, he flung himself into his father's arms. The strength that enveloped him had him breaking, his sobs coming just as he muffled against his father's chest. "I love you, dad."

"Oh Sammy, I love you too."

SNSNSNSNSNSN


	6. Chapter 6

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Limp!Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

I put on a clown suit to try and attract the boys my way … and ended up commandeered into some rich brat's birthday party! Does anyone know how to get frosting out of a clown suit? It's due back by noon!

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews I am getting! It means the absolute world! And … this is it, the last chapter! Thanks to all of you that stuck with me.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

After the emotional outburst by Sam, one that had John nearly in tears, the trio sat in silence until Dean finally broke it with low words, as if something other than Jim Murphy might be listening. "We've been looking all over for you kiddo."

John nodded, adding his own hushed tones. "We even went to the Barber's house, but you'd taken off."

"Fred Barber is a dick!"

Both John and Dean looked at Sam, not only flabbergasted by the language (because Sam was the nice one!) but by his outburst.

"He beat the shit out of me every chance he got."

The silence was so thick it was palpable as both elder Winchester's stared at the youngest … not in disbelief, but in pure anger. CPS, who had accused John of beating his son, had given his boy, his baby to a monster.

Sam began the tale of his stay at the Barber's … of Fred's cruelty, and of Maureen's indifference, as if Sam deserved any of it. He was not there long, but his stay there had made Sam see that normal was not always … normal.

Parts of the story came in a rush, as if Sam had to get it out before it ate him away from the insides out, while other parts came slow, the brutality of the man the state had awarded the youngest Winchester to made all too clear in those moments.

Oh but the story didn't end there, then there was Jeff and his sick, twisted ways. Jeff that Sam never even understood what he wanted (that would come later) but he had hurt him just the same. It was why he'd dove off a bridge, because frankly, death by drowning was far better than letting that sick fuck beat him to death.

What Jeff didn't know was that Sam (being the smart Winchester that he is!) got the man's license plate number. It was something that John Winchester tucked away for safe keeping.

Then came the entire story of how he got here, of his escape from the hippies, and how he nearly had to take a man's balls to keep himself from being the next dish served on some demented bastard's platter.

By the end of the tale Sam was exhausted. He hadn't slept well since the whole thing began, and despite the sleep he'd had the previous night, he was soon out cold on the couch, leaning on Dean like a lifeline.

And, by the end of the tale, John and Dean were pissed. With Sam pressed against him as he was, Dean's voice was low and nearly hissed. "I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Their stay at Pastor Jim's lasted over a week, a time that Sam actually began to relax. Once he broke one of Jim's plates when clearing the table, causing John to yell. The flinch was instantaneous from his youngest, making the man all too aware of what the bastards had done to his baby.

Once Sam walked into the kitchen to hear his father talking in low tones on the phone. "Yeah Bobby, have every hunter on the lookout. I want the bastard caught." 

Ignoring, him (as he usually would) he went to get himself a drink when his father caught sight of him, made some excuse into the phone, and hung up.

"Hey kiddo, how're you holding up?"

Sam just gave him a thumb's up and took his water to the living room.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

They left Jim's three days later, John claiming some important hunt was beckoning them (hence why he'd been all secretive to Bobby, as if Sam didn't know!) and needed their immediate attention.

They drove for three days before stopping in what Sam figured was the place of the hunt. He knew because his dad gathered all the bags, not just their clothes and a few weapons. He'd been asleep the last couple of hours and had no idea where they were, but it didn't matter, he just shuffled into the motel room and collapsed.

"You can't go, they would be expecting you."

"Dean, I'm not letting you go, someone needs to stay here."

The words filtered into Sam's brain like a dream, causing him to shift in his sleep and the voices to fade into silence. That is, until they were certain that the youngest was not waking.

"Look, they will be on the alert for you, it's safer if I go."

All arguing aside, Dean was right, and John finally relented and allowed his son to take this hunt of a far different nature.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

They rushed out the next morning so fast it made Sam's head spin. He blinked sleepily as John shook him awake. "C'mon Sam, get a move on."

Instinct took over, as this had happened before, but he was slow in comprehending. This usually took place _after _a hunt, not before.

"What about the hunt?"

The words came as he stumbled from the bed to shuffle to his duffle and grab a change of clothes.

"It went sour, now come on, get a move on, we have another lead."

And just like that they were off.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Perhaps it was luck that the following evening Dean was in the shower, singing his lungs out, and his dad was out getting dinner, that Sam happened to take up Dean's habit of flipping through the television stations.

So fast he almost missed it.

"… _ed and Maureen Barber…"_

So fast he actually had to flip back to catch it all.

"_The attack has stumped police and baffled their neighbors, who claim the Barber's to be a quiet lot that never cause any problems."_

Sam snorted as he watched the scene unfold before him.

"_Apparently Fred Barber was beaten severely while his wife, Maureen, was tied to a chair, made to watch and unable to do anything."_

"_There are no clues, no witnesses, and no motive, which has local authorities … "_

The door opened and the remote flipped immediately, his head turning to just stare at his dad a minute, something that made John uncomfortable before Sam nodded to the bag. "What's for dinner?"

And then all was right in the world … at least in the world of the Winchesters.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

It was three weeks later and pure dumb happenstance on Sam's part that he found the headline. Stuck on research duty in some town in Maine (Sam hated Maine, it was always so cold!) he was at the library, scouring the internet for clues to some creature that was sneaking into people's homes at night and ripping them limb from limb. Sam thought it was a clown for two reasons. One being that clowns were indigenous to Maine (after reading IT, Sam was certain that they truly were evil!). And secondly, which was the most obvious, was that clowns were just plain creepy!

So he sat there, huffing over the fact that no one believed him that it was a killer clown, when he flipped passed an article, then flipped immediately back to just stare at the wreckage of the SUV that he'd been held prisoner in.

_The mysterious attack on Mr. Jeffrey Johnson is still baffling police in helping to capture one of the countries biggest pedophiles. Apparently Mr. Johnson was driving south along Route 3 when he was forced off the road, by what he describes as a large black truck, and flanked by a rusted out one. Beaten and then handcuffed in his vehicle as it was pushed into the murky water, police received an anonymous tip as to his whereabouts. Two children were left at the police station, though neither remembered the faces of their would-be hero's, both were too shaken up and littered with bruises. Due to the fact that they are both under 18, their names are being withheld until …_

Sam stared, not at all sure how to feel about that. And when he realized just what the bastard had planned to do, he bolted through the library to push his way into bathroom. No sooner had he hit his knees than the retching came. First his lunch, then a few dry heaves that had his back and stomach rebelling the act.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

John pulled up outside of the library and waited but a second before he spotted his boy trudging down the steps only to climb into the truck without a word. He was used to this, to these sudden mood swings of his son, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had sparked this one. So he just drove.

They were just pulling into the motel when Sam spoke, low and hushed, as if the very truck itself might spill his secrets for the world.

"Thanks, dad."

John paused, blinked, and tried to decide if he'd heard that correctly. Turning to face Sam (who was staring intently back for once) he gave his son a confused look.

"For what?"

Sam shrugged then. "For nothing, for everything … just … thanks."

John stared, about to question this sudden appreciation when there was a banging on the window, causing both Winchester's to look and see Dean grinning through the glass.

"Are you girls going to sit in there all day? I'm starved."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Jerk."

"I heard that, you bitch!"

And John smiled. Their life might not be perfect, but it was _their_ life … and the rest of the world? Well, it could go fuck itself … and get fucked if it crossed the Winchester's ever again.

SNSNSNSNSNSN


End file.
